Multum In Parvo
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: When Sam notices odd, little things in his brother's behavior he starts to worry. When he begins to put it all together, he suspects Dean might be hiding something serious from him. Unabashed hurt!Dean with a very worried Sam. Set Season Six. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I have been missing for a little while, haven't I? First let me warn you what follows is pure old-fashioned, unabashed hurt comfort. This might need a little schmoop warning even. And yes, this is new, but it has a definite ending. I am saying that right up front, since many of you will wonder about _Gifts. _I plan on filling the summer with the conclusion of that story. This one came very close to being part of that, but poor Sam. It's time for things to improve and well, Dean's gotten off light lately. If I told you more, I'd be giving it away... and no spoilers in author's notes. I know some of you will accuse me of taking research to far again, but this story needed to be written and it needed now. Thanks to TraSan._

_A/N II: Dedicated with love and hugs to Merisha, for cheering, hand-holding, patience and so much more. (Surprise!)_

**Multum In Parvo**

The smell of cooking burgers and onion rings filled the air around Sam as he waited beside the Impala. Dean had walked across the street into the diner to order food, insisting Sam should relax in the car, listen to the stereo—_You know, Sammy, just chill. _He grinned at Sam and headed over toward the restaurant. Sam huffed out a sigh of complete frustration.

Dean was in full-on, one hundred percent stealth mode—and he was sure he was getting away with it. Of course that was nothing new, his brother usually thought he was getting away with things when they were serious. If Dean had a cold the world knew it, he whined and moaned and occasionally asked Sam to just put him out of his misery. Usually in pathetic tones accompanied by sniffs and snuffles. On the other hand, hack half his leg off and Dean would calmly hop along with a smile on his face and a "It's just a scratch" attitude reminiscent of the Black Knight. On one memorable occasion Dean had let a wound get so septic that it had very nearly killed him, just because he didn't want Sam to worry.

So Dean in stealth mode was a problem—actually more a series of problems. First, find out what was going on. Second, find out how serious or potentially fatal it was and, finally, what could be done about it.

The fact that they had been a part for a long time didn't help matters. For Sam it didn't really feel like time had passed, except for that odd, terrifying sensation of flames licking at the back of his head promising pain and madness beyond what he was capable of even comprehending. But, really, from the time he fell, until this moment in the Impala, it felt like three weeks. They'd been back together for three weeks since he woke in the panic room at Bobby's.

It had taken him less than an hour to realize Dean was thinner than he had been _before. _When Sam learned how long he'd been gone, and that Dean had living with Lisa, he'd chocked up some of the weight loss to healthy home cooking, and a thousand other excuses. He would try one on for a few hours then discard it when Dean did something to set another little warning bell off.

Four days after they were back on the road and Sam started noticing how much Dean's eating habits had changed. For a man that had once consumed entire pigs worth of bacon for breakfast, Dean now stuck primarily to coffee with sugar and—Sam still couldn't believe this—low fat milk. His brother ordered what looked like a normal lunch, but Sam noticed more often than not Dean would just destroy his food, smash it, cut it into tiny pieces, eat a small portion and leave the rest. The same went for dinner, if Dean ate at all. More worrying, Dean didn't seem to be indulging in alcohol. At all the stops they'd made, his brother would order a beer and go through the motions, but once Sam realized something was up, he noticed Dean's beer was barely touched.

Sam had tried calling Bobby. The older hunter admitted that he' noticed Dean looked thinner, and hadn't been eating as much but had pointed out that things "hadn't been exactly unstressful lately." Sam had poked and prodded, but after fifteen minutes of fruitless interrogation, he'd decided that Bobby didn't know what was going on. Dean was in super-stealth mode and hadn't let it slip, not even in front of the older hunter.

At one point, Sam had picked up Dean's phone while is brother was showering and scrolled to Lisa's number, contemplating calling her. He'd stared at it for a long, long time before setting the phone down again. He doubted Lisa would tell him anything, so he would just have to approach the problem as usual.

Luckily, he was a professional when it came to deciphering the Dean stealth code. It might take time, but he would get to the bottom of it. He just hoped he had time. Though, judging from Dean's behavior this was something that had been going on for more than a month or two so imminent danger, like blood poisoning, could be ruled out. Sam guess it was something chronic, that just left him with the "what."

Sam pulled out his journal and looked at the list he'd made:

_Badly healed wound. _He'd checked that one off. As far as he could tell there were no new serious scars.

_Slow acting poison. _Sam was pretty sure that was something Bobby would know about so it was tentatively crossed off.

_Supernatural illness. _Maybe, that one was still on the list, but again, you'd think Bobby would have noticed. Sam wanted to remember if something had happened, but that touched that fiery place in his head.

_Other, human, illness. _That was a long list, and rather try and list out everything it could be and cross it off, Sam was just adding things he had eliminated to that list. It wasn't very long yet, and that was worrying.

He stared at the words on the page, he was going about this the wrong way. If this was a case, he wouldn't just start making wild guesses about the entity they were facing, he would amass clues, then start narrowing things down. He turned the page and started a new list.

_Lack of appetite_

_Small meals_

_Drinks sports drinks or "vitamin" waters instead of soda_

_One cup of coffee, no more_

_Low fat milk_

Sam thought a little longer, trying to put together everything he'd noticed, but not thought about.

_No fried food_

_No donuts_

_No salad or raw vegetables _Although that would almost be normal, the one burger Dean had he'd had plain.

_Eats yogurt_

_Last two stops at a drugstore were the same chain _That could mean prescriptions.

Sam tapped his pencil on the page. Even though he hated the idea of violating the sacrosanct privacy of his brother's bags, he was going to have to see if there were prescriptions he needed to know about. They had an unspoken rule, in a life on the road their bags were untouched, tiny islands of privacy in a life lived in close quarters. There was also the overriding "in times of emergency" rule Dean had put into effect when Sam was about seventeen and John had become desperately ill and the only clue had been the tiny voodoo doll that something had secreted in their father's bags.

Sam was officially declaring this an emergency.

He spotted Dean heading back and quickly tucked the journal away. "Operation De-Stealth Dean" was in action.

It was a long day on the road. Sam tried to engage in the first steps of "Operation DSD" and watch Dean without seeming to watch, something he had perfected over a lifetime. Of course, Dean knew when Sam was being stealthy too, and after several increasingly loud sighs, he finally glanced over at Sam with a look that would melt steel. Sam smiled back, giving his brother his best all puppy-eyed innocence look. Dean sighed again before pushing in one of his mixed tapes and cranking Dio to eardrum piercing levels.

Dean finally pulled into a small hotel at the far end of a medium-sized town. A cold rain had settled in, making travel difficult and Sam could tell the day was wearing more than usual on his brother. He might have only been back a few weeks, but there was a lifetime before that to fall back on, and Dean was "uncomfortable." In Dean language that translated as "pain that made most people scream."

Sam decided he might need to step up Operation DSD.

Once they were in the room, Dean grabbed his clothes and toiletries bag and headed into the shower. Sam waited patiently for the sound of the water to start before easing across the room towards his brother's bag. Keeping his eyes fixed on the door, he reached into the bag and fished around, looking for anything that felt like pill bottles. He was just about to give up, guessing that Dean might keep them in the shaving kit, when he hit pay dirt. He pulled it out, opened it and pulled a bottle out, writing the name down, then grabbing another. A sound from the bathroom made him jump, he shoved everything back into Dean's bag and made it across the room before Dean opened the door.

"What's up?" Sam asked, hoping it didn't sound too innocent.

"Forgot to grab the new razors." Dean walked purposefully to his things and grabbed the small bag of pills.

Sam sighed as his brother disappeared back into the bathroom. He grabbed his laptop and looked at the name of the medicine he'd written down before he was interrupted. Hoping he'd spelled it right, or that it would be close enough for Google he typed it in "Ondansetron." _No, that can't be right. _Sam hit the first item on the page, he had to have written it down wrong. "_Ondansetron is used to prevent nausea and vomiting caused by cancer chemotherapy, radiation therapy and surgery." _Sam scrolled down the page, but they all had about the same information and even after trying several "misspellings" of the word, it was the only one that came close. He wished he'd had more time to get the names of the other meds, and there had been... Sam paused... Five or six bottles.

He pulled out his journal and added _Meds, more than one._

"Find anything?" Dean asked, coming out of the bathroom.

"What?" Sam asked guiltily, quickly closing the browser window.

"The case?"

"No."

Dean grinned at him. "Surfing porn finally?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Sam huffed and Dean laughed. "Yep, porn." He flopped on the other bed and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels. "Don't let me disturb you."

"The wireless here sucks."

"Good cover, so you weren't surfing porn, you were just trying to get a signal to surf porn?"

"When was the last time I surfed..." Sam stopped himself. Maybe that other Sam _had. _He knew his brother forgave him, but he wasn't so sure Dean would ever be able to forgive that other Sam. There was really no way he could explain it, he'd even tried, but he knew his brother thought of them—him—as two different people. Sometimes, late at night, that haunted Sam, knowing the other him had been so horrible that Dean had to compartmentalize them. He took a deep breath, shaking off the mood. "I was trying to find something about that weird supercell they spotted just south of here a few hours ago."

"Wrong part of the country, wrong time of the year," Dean agreed, glancing over, one hand absently rubbing his stomach.

"You okay?"

"What did you find out?" Dean asked, ignoring him.

"Find out?"

"Supercell?"

"Oh, not much, not yet. They don't have much up on the web yet." Sam frowned at the laptop like it was to blame for the lack of information. "I was trying to get into... Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Dean growled.

The tone was enough to make Sam set the computer aside. "Dean?" He took a good look at his brother, Dean was gray, the tight lines at the edge of his mouth that signified serious pain marking his face. "What's wrong?"

"I'm..."

"No," Sam growled back. He was tired of the dance, tired of the game Operation DSD was about to go into attack mode. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean wheezed out, getting, if possible, even more pale.

"Right."

"Really, it's..." His brother stopped and went sheet-white before clutching at his chest. "Sonofabitch!"

"Dean!" Sam was beside him a second later. "What is it?"

"Chest," Dean managed to get out. "Hurts."

"I'm calling..."

"Don't you dare," Dean grunted.

"Then you go." Sam didn't wait for Dean to agree or not. One thing the other Sam had done was stay in shape. Sam easily picked up his brother and headed for the car. The fact Dean didn't protest when Sam dumped him into the passenger seat set off all of Sam's "Dean" alarms at once. He ran around to the driver's side and climbed in. "We're going to the ER."

"I know."

Sam panicked, threw the car into gear and floored it.

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. Ad Nauseum

_A/N: Don't worry, Sam's still on the case, and this little diversion is not going to distract him. I would like to say, before accused, I did not take research to far. Really... I have no idea what you mean. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, I appreciate each one and am catching up on replies._

_A/N II:_ _For Merisha._

**Multum In Parvo**

_**Ad nauseum **_

There was very little traffic as Sam sped through town, which was just as well. He completely ignored two red lights and a stop sign once he spotted the little blue "H" signs leading to the hospital. The fact that Dean wasn't protesting the trip, and had grown quieter as they went, encouraged Sam's reckless driving. Even more worrying, Sam ran over a curb taking a corner a little too tight and Dean didn't mention that. By the time Sam pulled into the parking lot at the ER, he was nearly hysterical. He ran around to the passenger side of the car and helped Dean out. His brother groaned as he stood, Sam put his arm around Dean's waist and lifted as much of Dean's weight onto himself as he could. He knew Dean wouldn't be carried into the ER, and there were wheelchairs just inside the door. They only had to get that far. He dropped Dean gently into the chair and pushed him towards the triage window.

"Reason for visit?" the girl behind the window asked in a slightly bored tone.

"Chest pain," Sam answered before Dean could open his mouth.

"Have you been here before?"

"No," Sam said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Name?"

"Dean Iommi," his brother said, pulling out his wallet and holding out an insurance card.

"Thank you," she said. "Go over there and the nurse will take care of you."

Sam rolled Dean over to a blood pressure machine and a large woman in bright, flowered scrubs came over with a clipboard in her hands. She put the blood pressure cuff on Dean's arm and pressed the start button on the machine, clipped the sensor to his forefinger and then frowned at him. "Chest pain?" she asked, Dean nodded. "Hmph. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?"

"High sevens," Dean answered. Sam swallowed, and looked at his brother. Maybe he hadn't heard that right.

"Hmph," the nurse said and wrote Dean's vitals down. "Can you take him back to twenty-eight?"

"Sure." A young man wearing a name badge that said "Marc" came out from behind the desk and pushed Dean towards a set of double doors. Sam trailed behind them.

Dean was pushed back into a small room that had a curtain for the door. Sam marveled at the fact that for some reason all the hospitals they had been in seemed to use the same curtain supplier. Marc helped Dean onto the bed, smiled at them and left. Before Sam could say anything, someone showed up to put a bracelet on Dean with his information and sign the paperwork. The whole time Dean kept getting more and more gray.

"Dean Iommi?" a pretty blond asked from the doorway.

"Yeah?" Dean smiled.

"I'm Karyn, your nurse. What brings you in tonight?"

"Chest pain," Dean said.

"Can you describe it? Dull? Stabbing?"

"Stabbing and throbbing," Dean answered with a frown, thinking about it.

"On a scale of one to..."

"Eight," Dean growled.

Sam stepped past the nurse and put his hand on Dean's shoulder. The muscles were tense. If his brother was admitting to an eight, it was bad. "I think it was bothering him since lunch, but it got bad about twenty minutes ago," Sam offered.

"That's when the stabbing pain started?" she asked Dean.

"Yeah, and it's been getting worse."

"Have you taken an aspirin?"

"Aspirin?" Sam felt stupid. After watching as much TV as he had, and seeing the continual commercials, he should have thought of that. "No."

"Okay." She made a note on his chart and took some supplies out of a drawer. Sam recognized the IV pack immediately. He'd stolen a few over the years and thanks to Dr. Dave, he knew how to start an IV when needed. She prepped Dean's arm and opened the back. "You'll feel a pinch."

"You're shoving a needle in my arm," Dean growled. Sam hid a smile. His brother was never big on the medical professions tendency to downplay what they were going to do, ever since one memorable doctor told Sam it would just pinch a little, then proceeded to pull a stick out of his foot without numbing it or anything. Sam had screamed and Dean had punched the doctor. Since then Dean tended to say "it's a little uncomfortable" or "it's a scratch" but did not allow the same parlance from the medical profession.

"Any nausea?"

"Yes."

"Okay." She drew several vials of blood, pulled a blue bag out of a dispenser, handed it to Dean and left.

Dean looked at the bag. "It says single person use." He smirked. "That's comforting."

Sam leaned against the bed. "Dean..." He didn't get a chance to finish. Another person in scrubs appeared, pushing in a machine and, lifting Dean's t-shirt, started sticking pads down on his chest. Sam recognized the EKG leads from Dean's experience years before. They wheeled the EKG machine out and someone else came in with another set of pads and hooked Dean up to the standard monitor. Sam glanced up, wondering if it was good or bad that he knew how to read the various numbers on the screen.

They were gone and Karyn was back with a large bag of fluids, she hung it from of hook on the wall and pulled a syringe out of her pocket. "What's that?" Sam asked.

"Saline flush," Dean answered for her. "Always tastes the same."

"A lot of people say they taste it," she said. "This is some Zofran for the nausea." She screwed another syringe on the port and depressed the plunger, then attached the bag of fluids. "How's your pain?"

"It's not getting better, still a high seven or eight." Dean swallowed, his hand closing on the barf bag. "Nausea is awesome too."

"Give the Zofran a chance. Can you tell me what medications you're on?" She looked at him.

Dean opened his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "That's all of them, can you make a copy and bring that back?"

"Yes, perfect."

Sam watched her leave with the sheet, wondering how he could manage to snag it when she got back. It would be a lot easier than trying to get at the pill bottles in Dean's bag again. He could see her at the photocopier, and made a move towards the door, pretending he was looking out watching the flow of people in the nurses' station.

"Don't even think about it," Dean said, his voice tight with pain.

"What?" Sam turned back, giving Dean his best hurt puppy look.

"Just..." Dean stopped, sucking in a breath, his hand going up to press against his chest. Sam forgot about the list, forgot about everything, and hurried to the bed, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Damn, it hurts," Dean said.

Karyn came back and handed the list to Dean who tucked it back in his wallet. "The doctor will be in shortly."

"Can he get something for the pain?" Sam asked.

"I have to speak with the doctor," she said firmly, then walked out of the small room.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said. "You know the routine. Stick needles in, mutter, poke, mutter, make sure patient is not bleeding to death, leave."

"I know." Sam chuckled, leaning against the bed so his brother could be in contact. It was Winchester Hospital Rule One, stay in contact when at all possible, or line of sight at the very least. It had been their father's rule, created when Dean had to go in to get his tonsils out when he was eight, and Sam was scared. He knew what hospitals meant and he was worried for his brother, so John created the rule. Much to the dismay of the hospital staff.

"What's taking so long?" his brother asked, then sucked in a deep break, clamping down on Sam's wrist with a vise-like grip.

"There is something going on in the room by the door." Sam moved just enough to get a better look. "A couple of nurses ran in there a minute ago."

"That's not a lot of help."

Sam turned to look at his brother. "Do you want me to go get someone?"

"No!" Dean's grip, if anything, tightened on his wrist, and thin or not, Dean could do considerable damage with that hand if he needed to. "Sorry." Something must have showed on Sam's face, his brother's hold loosened minutely.

"Karyn is coming back," Sam said, seeing the nurse approaching.

"How are we doing?" she asked, coming into the room.

"We're awesome," Dean snapped.

"Nausea? Pain?"

"Both awesome."

"Now," she glanced down at the chart, "Dean. You need to let me know how you're feeling."

"I can't breathe, my chest feels like it's being crushed and I want to puke. Is that better?"

She smiled and hung a glass bottle on the hook. "The nausea is still bad?"

"Yes, what's that?"

"Nitro. I'll see about getting something else for your nausea. The doctor will be right back."

"Sure he will," Dean said, frowning at Sam. "Stop squinching at me."

"This will help," Karyn was back before Sam could speak.

"What is that?" Sam demanded, beginning to get the scary "things are out of control" feeling he always got in the Emergency Room.

"Phenergan, for the nausea." She flushed the port in Dean's hand, then administered the med. As the plunger went down, Sam noticed Dean's hold on his wrist relaxed and Dean's eyes drifted closed a little. "I'll be back in a minute to see if that's helping, the doctor will be right back."

"Doubt it," Dean mumbled.

"Dean?"

"Damn Phenergan always makes me dopey when I get it IV."

"Always?" Sam asked casually, hoping to get more information.

"Yeah, the Zofran is okay, but the damn Phenergan makes me... Ah ha, no way, I know what you're doing, Sammy, good try."

"What?"

"Think you're being stealthy." Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam, his gaze hazy. "I'm the stealthy one, remember? You're agile."

"I know." Sam smiled.

"Although when pressed I can be agile too." Dean grinned. "Pretty agile."

"I'm sure I don't want to know."

A middle-aged man with graying hair at his temples came into the room. "Hi, I'm Dr. Esterhazy." He held out his hand and shook theirs as they introduced themselves. "So, tell me what's brought you in tonight."

Dean growled.

Sam put his hand on his brother's arm and looked at the doctor. The fact the man had taken the time for introductions impressed him. They'd been in enough emergency rooms for Sam to get a feeling for the doctors pretty fast. He liked Esterhazy. "Chest pain. He was uncomfortable all day, but the pain got much worse about," Sam paused to glance at the clock, "an hour ago."

"Any history of heart trouble in your immediate family?"

"Not that we know of," Sam answered truthfully.

"What does that mean?" the doctor asked with a frown.

"Our parent's died young—in accidents."

"So, we don't know, hmm." Esterhazy walked to the bed. "I'm going to listen to your heart, okay?"

Dean opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it closed and nodded. The doctor listened, a frown on his face, then had Dean sit up and listened from the back as well. When he was done, he had Dean lie back and pressed on his chest and abdomen. Sam watched the varying levels of pain cross his brother's face, at one point Dean actually cried out. Taking a slow breath, Sam clenched his fists, repeating to himself that the doctor was there to help, working to overcome the "someone is hurting Dean, must defend" reflex. It was surprising, sometimes, how deeply that impulse was ingrained and how violent it was willing to be to achieve what was needed. Sam sighed as the doctor stepped away.

"How is your pain right now?"

"Seven, maybe eight?" Dean said.

"Which? Honesty works best in situations like this, Dean," Dr. Esterhazy said kindly.

"Closer to an eight then."

"So bad?"

"Yes."

"How does it relate to the other condition? Is this similar?"

"No, this is definitely different. It..." Dean stopped, taking sharp breath. "It's not the same, that's a dull, everyday, live with it kind of thing. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious."

"I don't doubt you, Dean," the doctor said. "I am just trying to get an idea of where we stand. Does this feel like heartburn?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

The doctor smiled. "No, it's actually common, and one of the reason's people having a heart attack don't get medical help, they think it's just heartburn."

"If he thought it was heartburn, he wouldn't be here," Sam confirmed, then laughed bitterly. "If he knew it was a heart attack, he might not be here."

"Hmm," Dr. Esterhazy made a note on the chart. "Any problems with morphine?"

"No," Sam and Dean answered together.

"Okay, we'll get you something to make you more comfortable, then we'll see about getting you settled in a room."

"A room?" Sam asked surprised. "You're admitting him?"

"I think it's best."

"Is it a heart attack then?"

"I don't know yet, we're waiting on labs, but we don't have a confirmed history, and with the other issues, there is certainly something going on. I'll get the paperwork going and send Karyn back with something to help make you more comfortable."

"Okay, thanks," Dean said.

Sam looked down at his brother. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"They're going to keep you overnight."

"Yeah."

"In the hospital."

"Yeah."

"And run tests."

"I'm not deaf, Sammy."

"Christo," he said, watching Dean's face.

"Ha ha."

Sam looked at his brother for a long moment, feeling the rush of panic from earlier coming back full force. _What the hell is going on?_

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. Graviora Manent 

_A/N: So, I had a cunning plan, as cunning as a cunning fox, to post this on Friday. As cunning plans go, you can see it was a bit of a flop. But here it is. I know some people will react badly to the doctor at the end of the chapter. While his name is fictional, his behavior is not._

_A/N II: For Merisha_

**Multum In Parvo**

**Graviora Manent **

The hospital was filling up with the sounds of a an emergency room on an moderately busy night. Someone was moaning, there was a child crying in the next room and best of all, there was a guy screaming that he could see Death walking the hallways, looking for his next victim. Dean shifted his head to see if he could see anything. He had no doubt that Death or one of his minions was wandering through the hospital, the chances of the guy in the hallways actually seeing them... "Emergency Rooms, Sammy, they really pick up the crazies some nights, don't they?" he said to his brother. Sam was on guard, Dean could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he was leaning against the bed, allowing medical staff access, but so he could defend Dean at a moments notice if he needed to.

"They always do," Sam said, without turning to face him. Still on guard duty, but close enough so he was in contact.

"Remember that night I took you in and there was that woman under the chairs in the waiting room?" Dean asked idly, the pain in his chest was starting to get to the unbearable point. This was the fourth time in five months this had happened. Maybe this time was different, this was the first time he'd made it to the "getting admitted" point.

"The one who was screaming?" Sam turned to him with a smile. "She'd wound herself through the bars so security had to dismantle them?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Dean took a slow breath, it didn't help. He edged the cheerful blue barf bag closer. The Phenergan was making him dopey, and he was worried that once they tossed morphine on top of that, he'd start talking. Sam would hit him with that look and he'd spill his guts. It hadn't mattered the last couple of times, good old Soulless Sam hadn't even noticed he'd gone missing for a few hours, in fact, Dean suspected if he'd dropped right in front of that bastard, he would just step over Dean and carry on whatever he was doing.

This Sam was a different matter all together. This Sam could get Dean to talk about anything eventually. Most of the time he really didn't even have to try all that hard. On something big, something serious, something—well something like this—that Dean had been hiding for awhile, Sam would work for it. But he'd get through every road block Dean tossed up. And, honestly, Sam had every right to know. Dean sighed. _Why the hell didn't I tell him? _The answer was easy enough. _And really? A little pathetic, don't you think? _He took a deep breath as a huge rush of nausea threatened to overcome the drugs. He just didn't want to... _Come on, admit it, you don't want to seem weak. _Of course, someone once told him that the person at your back deserved to know if you were capable of holding up your end of the bargain. _It's not been a problem... Well, not yet. _He hadn't had a really bad flare, except for those days waiting for Sam to wake after Death restored his soul, and not eating and nausea was easily explained.

The nurse reappeared with two syringes. "How's your pain?"

"It's fantastic," Dean answered. Sam huffed at him, his "Sam annoyed with Dean, but equally annoyed at the medical staff" huff. As irritated as his brother was with Dean, he was more upset that the staff was letting Dean remain in pain, that there were no answers yet and that nothing seemed to be happening.

"Well, the doctor sent you something for pain." She flushed the port, the odd, musky/metallic taste of the saline preceding the soft sting then pressure at the base of his neck of morphine.

"About time," Sam growled.

"Sammy," Dean said softly, the drug already hitting him. The pain was still there, but he was feeling heavy.

"We've been in here forever, Dean."

"They always take a long time."

"Always?" Sam's focus went from the ward to Dean.

"Um, you know, emergency rooms. We're always waiting forever." Only that wasn't true, usually they weren't waiting at all because one of them was seriously injured, dying or in two cases mostly dead.

"Dean." Sam gave him the full-on Sammy look.

"What?" He tried for a smirk, it didn't work. Between the meds and the look on his brother's face, he was starting to crack. To tell the truth it was mostly the look on his brother's face. Knowing he was doing the Sammy guard-dog thing, knowing he cared, knowing he was _there. _ That made all the difference. It had been so damned long. Dean blinked and cleared his throat. Sam laid his hand on Dean's arm. "Sam, I..." He had no idea what he planned to say, but whatever it was, it never got a chance. The nausea caught up to him, he felt the first little heave and knew what was coming. "Stand back," he managed to get out before he grabbed the bag.

Sometime an eternity later, the dry heaves stopped. He was aware of Sam's hand on his back, the fuzzy feeling of another dose of probably Phenergan. He had no idea how long they'd actually been there, or how big the first dose had been, so they probably gave him more. His chest was on fire, the pain unbearable, he could barely breathe it hurt so bad. He leaned back, Sam's hand moved to his shoulder and he opened his eyes. His face felt cool, he hoped it was sweat, but in all likelihood it was involuntary tears. "Sam..."

"He's in pain," Sam snapped at someone out of Dean's immediate line of sight.

"How bad is it? Can you tell me, Dean?" Karyn moved up beside the bed.

"Bad," his brother said, before Dean could open his mouth. "Worse than it was."

Dean nodded, glad Sam could read him like that, as inconvenient as it had proven over the years.

"Is the nausea still bad? Are you having trouble breathing?"

"Yes," Sam growled at her. "He's worried if he says anything he'll start vomiting again."

Dean nodded again.

"Okay," she smiled and pulled a canula over his face and turned on the oxygen.

"Why didn't you do that when we came in?" Sam loomed over her. Dean grabbed his wrist, his brother absently patted his hand. "Maybe it would have stopped what just happened."

Dean was impressed, she ignored Sam, moving him aside with a little push of her hip while she flushed the ports on the IV and gave him another dose of something, pain meds he guessed, judging by the taste and the way it felt as it moved through his body. Between that and whatever anti-nausea drug they'd given him, he was starting to feel like things were getting out of control. "That should help, we'll be moving you to a room shortly."

"You said that," Sam said, moving back into guard position. "I can stay." It wasn't a question.

"He will be sleeping most of the time and..."

"I'm staying."

"There's really no reason..."

"Stay," Dean said softly.

Sam smiled at her and shrugged. "Staying." She frowned at him, Dean had to admit it was an impressive frown, hovering on the edge of a scowl and one that reminded him of Sister Sienna, the seventh grade teacher at a school they'd attended for a few months when he was fourteen. "I'm not leaving," Sam said.

"One family member is allowed to stay," she said with a sigh.

"Good."

"I'll be back to check on you."

Dean nodded, then looked up at his brother, wondering if he should just tell Sam everything now. He blinked. His tongue felt thick. _Damn Phenergan and morphine and whatever else is in me. _"Sammy..."

"Don't worry, Dean, I'm not going anywhere." Sam leaned against the bed.

"Good," Dean mumbled, letting his eyes close, knowing his brother had his back.

**X X X**

Sam watched the activity in the hallway, trying to keep track of what was going on without leaving Dean alone. He could see his brother's chart sitting unattended on the counter at the nurses' station and he was fighting the temptation to go out and look through it. It might have at least some of the answers he needed, he debated leaving just long enough to get it.

"Supplies," Dean said, his voice slurring.

"What?" Sam turned to look at his brother.

"Supplies, stock up if you can." Dean grinned. "She left the cabinet open."

"You noticed that?" Sam asked, smiling.

"Just 'cause I'm drugged doesn't mean things slip by. I'll be lookout."

"With your eyes closed?" Sam stepped over and silently slid the drawers open and grabbed a few items from each drawer. He managed to get them all into his pockets—or the pockets in Dean's coat—before there was a tap on the wall outside the curtain. "Come in," he said, moving back to the bed.

"Hi! I'm Peter, I'm going to move you to your room for the night."

"Oh good." Dean looked over at Sam.

"I'm not leaving."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes again as Peter unlocked the wheels on the bed and rolled it into the corridor. Sam trailed behind, trying not to look in the other rooms as they went past, but even so, he caught a glimpse of an old woman hooked to monitors, a young man crying beside her; there was a man with blood on his face, a teen looking confused. Sam sighed, he hated hospitals. Somewhere in the back of his head a memory brushed against that fiery place in his head, someone screaming—maybe his own voice—blood everywhere and over it all the scent of a hospital. He clamped down on it before it could become something more menacing.

He shook his head, focusing back on his brother as they went through a set of double doors and down a short corridor to an elevator. He was surprised when the doors opened up on the progressive care ward, Dean's bed was pushed into room A and Sam was shooed aside while the staff settled his brother into the room's bed and hooked him up to the various monitors. Sam watched as they came to life and he checked them quickly. Nothing looked that out of the ordinary.

Once everyone was gone, Sam dragged the chair over beside the bed and sat down. "Dean?"

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling?"

"Awesome."

"That good?" Sam sighed.

"Oh yeah." Dean swallowed. "Actually, can you grab me..."

Sam looked around the room and spotted the dispenser of blue bags and grabbed one—just in time. Dean started heaving, although after the episode in the ER, there wasn't much left. Sam hit the nurse call button as Dean moaned. He could see his brother trying to get control, and not being able to manage. The nurse came in, opened her mouth to ask what was going on and left.

She was back a minute later and gave him a dose of something without even acknowledging Sam's presence. Sam frowned at her, but she left again before he could demand what she'd given Dean. _I hate hospitals. _He hated them for just that reason, that loss of control, that sense that something bad might happen and he wouldn't even know why. At least when they were hunting, he knew what was coming. The small flutter of panic that lived behind his breastbone in situations like this was pinging around inside his chest with a growing insistence.

As Dean's heaving eased, Sam took a slow breath, trying to still that panic. He knew it wasn't going to go away, but he needed to get control of it. There was something different in the sense of it, maybe it had to do with the Sam without a soul. There was a need to act, to demand answers that was a little more...He tried to pin down the feeling... more violent? Immediate? Than it once had been. It was a little terrifying, looking in at himself and seeing it there. He knew—had always known—what he was capable of, but to see it so close to the surface was worrisome.

He helped Dean lean back in the bed. "Thanks," his brother said, blinking slowly.

"Anytime."

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes. "I guess we have some things to talk about, Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Well, probably a lot of things." Dean's voice was getting more and more slurred. "What did they give me?"

"I don't know," Sam growled.

"Don't kill the nurse."

"I won't," Sam half-joked. He wanted to know, he hated that he didn't.

"This pain is new," Dean said after a pause long enough that Sam thought his brother had drifted off.

"New?" he repeated, coaxing, but trying not to break Winchester Rule Number 28 "No Interrogation while Under the Influence".

"Yeah. I usually hurt a bit." Dean opened an eye and looked over. "You do too, so don't go looking shocked. I know that scar from that job in North Bend aches when it rains."

"We had good pie, though."

"Damn good pie," Dean replied with a smile. "But this is new, it just started happening in the last few months."

"The last few months, Dean?"

"Yeah."

"I was with you?"

"No, you weren't, that other guy was."

Sam sighed. He was right, his brother wasn't going to forgive the other Sam anytime soon. "Sorry." He couldn't think what else to say.

"I'm not even sure it's my..." Dean stopped and ground his teeth together, his face going white. "My heart. It just..." He stopped and reached for Sam's hand, grabbing on, the grip tightening. "Sonofabitch that hurts."

"Do you want me to call the nurse?"

"No, I already have too many damn drugs in me as is." Dean took a deep breath, but didn't let go of Sam. "I..."

"I'm Dr. Willard," a man said walking into the room.

"Knock next time," Dean muttered under his breath, Sam patted his hand.

"I was just looking over your records and noticed your current outpatient protocol, and, you know, a friend of mind just did some research and he found that..."

"Not changing," Dean said flatly.

"I could write it for you right now."

"Not changing," Dean repeated.

"You can think about it."

"I think he already made himself clear," Sam said, that little flutter of panic pushing up, wanting to commit violence.

"Ah, well, we'll see. I have you scheduled for a couple of tests to check your heart. We'll get those taken care of, then we'll see where we go from here."

"How's it look?" Sam asked.

"Look?" the doctor frowned at him. "I won't know until after the tests. I've got you on the schedule. They'll be in to get you in about an hour."

"Can you tell us anything?" Sam persisted, aware of a growing agitation in his brother.

"No, I need to wait until the tests," Dr. Willard said, coming over and staring pointedly at Sam until he stepped away from the bed. The doctor then listened to Dean's heart and pushed on his chest—which made Dean cry out in pain. "That hurts?"

"Yes," Dean said.

"Huh." The doctor pressed again. Dean ground his teeth together but Sam saw the little color left in his brother's face wash away.

"I think it hurts." Sam said, clenching his fist and took a slow breath. _Must not kill doctor. _

"Hmm." The doctor made a note on the chart. "Interesting. I'll just get you started on those new..."

"NO!" Dean shouted, his hands shaking.

"Dean!" Sam saw it coming, he tried to get there in time, but he didn't make it. Dean's breathing went nuts, alarms started blaring and staff poured into the room.

_**To Be Continued**_


	4. Sursum Corda

_A/N: Thank you all for reading and your reviews! Your guesses as to what's up with Dean are good, I'm not confirming or denying anything... I want to say again, I have utmost respect for members of the medical profession. In fact, I admire them more than almost anyone. Dr. Willard and the nurse in this chapter are based on real people and actual events. _

_A/N II: For Merisha_

**Multum In Parvo**

**Sursum Corda**

There was the loud buzzing of activity around him that slowly slipped away into a soft hum of machinery and the steady beeping of a heart monitor. The fiery pain in Dean's chest was still there, muted by drugs, but there. His head was pounding in time with the soft beep of the machine over his head and his nose was dry from the flow of oxygen. There was a solid, warm presence beside him. He knew without asking, without even opening his eyes, it was his brother and Sam was back on guard-duty. He could also tell from the tension in the hand on his arm that his brother was furious. There was a small tremor in the fingers that signaled Sam in the mood for action.

That was one of the things that worried him about that other man who had been with him. The one who looked and sounded like Sam. His Sammy had that streak in him, that need for action, but there had been something holding him back most of the time—his soul. Without that he became what some might consider a perfect hunter, but then again, wendigos were perfect hunters. Dean sighed.

"Hey," Sam said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Dean opened his eyes. "What happened?" He took a deep breath, thinking back to what had occurred. He was already feeling vulnerable from the amount of drugs in his system, then the doctor had come in and suggested he change his protocol. Dean had started to panic—a combination of helplessness and his brother finding out everything before he'd had a chance to explain. He knew exactly what had happened. "Panic attack?"

"Yeah, a pretty classic, by-the-book, one."

"Awesome."

"It's not the first time," his brother said, smiling.

"And that makes it so much less humiliating, thanks," Dean wheezed. The more aware he became, the more his chest ached. "Where's the doctor?"

"Willard?" Sam growled.

"Was that his name?"

"Yeah, I asked him to leave. He's administering your tests, said he would see us then."

"Us?" Dean smiled. "Do you think they're going to let you go with me?"

"Yes." Sam's voice had a finality to it that startled Dean. There was still an edge in his brother that showed—or maybe it was that edge that had always been there was living closer to the surface now.

"What tests?"

"A cardiac stress test, then a nuclear medicine one."

"Stress test? Like on a treadmill?" That was enough to bring back memories of hell, actual hell for a moment.

"No, it's a resting stress test."

"I am not getting the 'resting' and stress?" Dean said, frowning. Sam picked up a piece of paper and handed it to him. Dean looked at it, the words were swimming across the page. "Maybe you can translate?"

"It says they give you a drug that does the same thing as running on the treadmill, and then monitor your heart."

"That still sounds painful," Dean said, then realized he'd said it out loud.

"I know, but they need to check, Dean."

"I'm feeling better."

"You are?" Sam said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, let's get out of here."

"Sure." Sam nodded. "Let's go."

Dean shifted to sit up, pain shot through his upper body and he fell back onto the bed with a groan. "Or I could stay here and get the tests."

"Only if you think that's best," Sam said with _that _look. The annoying look that was Sam letting him have his way when he knew it would go exactly the way Sam wanted it to go.

"Bite me, Sammy." Dean closed his eyes. _God, it hurts. _He wasn't sure what was going on, but it felt better knowing Sam was there. When the whole thing had started, he'd felt lost. Lisa was supportive, but it wasn't the same. He never was...

"Dean?" Sam said, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

"What?"

"They're here to take you for the test."

"So soon?" Dean opened his eyes and blinked at his brother.

"It's been three hours, you were sleeping."

"Oh." Dean watched as they unhooked the IV and the plug for the monitors, then a small woman, who was considerably stronger than she looked, helped him into a wheelchair. "Sam?"

"Right behind you."

They went down a long corridor, then through a set of double doors. Dean was aware of his brother behind them the whole way. He had no idea what Sam was doing, but once a hospital staff member started to approach, obviously intending to tell Sam he wasn't allowed, they suddenly just backed away before turning and heading in the opposite direction. Dean turned his head, but all he could see was the mass of his brother walking behind them, the same Sam as always.

The doctor was waiting outside a set of double doors. He frowned at Sam. "You can't come in," he snapped. Dean heard his brother draw a breath to protest. "Hospital policy. I'll have security remove you," the doctor continued undaunted.

"Fine. I'll be right here." Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Dean nodded. Message understood. If Dean needed him, Sam would be there.

Dean was pushed into a large room, there was something that looked like a bed in one corner, it had a large mechanical device attached to it. On the other side of the room—where he was being pushed, was a treadmill, several monitors and a reclining chair. A nurse wearing Winnie the Pooh scrubs helped him into the chair then hooked him up to a set of monitor leads. Dean swallowed. It was all feeling out of control again.

"Now, before we get started, I'd really like you to think about that research my friend did, he said they had good results..."

"I'm not changing what I'm doing. It's been working. My specialist went through all the options, and we settled on one."

"But this is new research and..."

"No," Dean said, starting to feel a flutter of panic.

"I'm ready for the test, doctor," the nurse said.

"Okay, so here's what's going to happen. We're going to give you a drug that's going to do make your heart work for us, so we can see what's going on," Dr. Willard said.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"It's like being on the treadmill without the treadmill." He nodded to the nurse.

"Wait, what do you..." Dean stopped as he tasted the saline flush then the sting of something else. _Oh god. _

"About that protocol my friend worked on..."

"No," Dean said, trying to stay focused. His heart was going insane, the pain was ramping up as his heart worked harder, and on top of it all the panic of everything being completely out of control was starting to clamp down on him like a vise. _Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. _

"That's it," the nurse said an eternity later. Dean's heart was slamming in his chest, his head was pounding, he hurt, and right then he was pretty sure he was about to die. "Here, drink this, it helps." She held a can of cola with a straw to his lips.

"Thanks," Dean said, trying to focus on anything other than the pain in his chest and the feeling that his brain was going to explode.

"It's a sound protocol, he's had really good results," Willard piped up suddenly.

"No!" Dean snapped, the sense of helplessness making his voice louder than it maybe should have been. He braced himself for what he knew would happen next—and it did.

"Dean?" The door opened and Sam's voice was carefully casual.

"You shouldn't be in here," the nurse said.

"Are you okay?" His brother ignored her. He stayed by the door, but Dean could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Yeah," Dean answered, his voice shaking.

"Uh huh. You look okay."

"Just the test."

"How is your pain," the nurse asked, her eyes on Sam.

"Eight?" Dean said, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. "My head is pounding too."

"We'll get you back to your room, and give you something for that."

Dean nodded, then realized it was a mistake. "I'm going to..." It was all he managed, for better or worse there was nothing but the few sips of cola in his stomach, so it was mostly dry heaving. When he finished, Sam was beside him, the doctor had beat a hasty retreat and the nurse was looking concerned. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"You should have seen Willard run."

The nurse actually smiled at hum. "He is not very comfortable around ..."

"I'll remember that for next time," Dean said, swallowing.

"Are you okay to move?" she asked.

"Yeah." Dean stood, Sam slipped a hand under his arm and helped him into the wheelchair. The nurse pushed him back to his room. By the time he got back into bed he was exhausted.

"Dean?"

"That was some test."

"I have something for the pain and nausea, Jill said it was an eight?" the day nurse, Phil, said coming into the room.

"Yeah, or a twelve, depending."

"That's not helpful," Phil chided, flushing the port.

"I don't taste that."

"Taste what?" Phil asked.

"The flush, I don't taste the flush, and it stings."

"Saline does."

"No, it doesn't and I always taste it."

"I doubt it." Phil twisted on another syringe and depressed the plunger.

"That really stings and I'm not feeling or tasting it."

"It takes a minute." He unscrewed that syringe, and attached another. "This is the morphine."

"It's not right," Dean said. He looked at his brother. "Sammy, something's wrong."

"He always tastes it," Sam said.

"Some people tell me that." Phil flushed it with saline again. "There you go."

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

"Something isn't right, Sam. I always taste it. And the Phenergan and morphine—I should be feeling them."

Sam stepped closer and looked at his arm. They'd started the IV in the big vein in his forearm so they could do a CT scan. "Your arm looks weird."

"It's starting to hurt." Dean grimaced. "I mean it _hurts_, Sam." He knew his brother would understand just what that meant. "Where'd they put the call button."

"Over here, out of reach," Sam said, punching it.

"What's going on?" a young woman came in, her name badge said Natalie.

"My arm," Dean said. "It hurts." Actually it felt like it was being chewed on by hellhounds. _And the fact I know how that feels is not comforting at all. _

She looked down at it, and touched a growing lump under his skin. "I'll be right back!" she said, and raced out of the room.

"That's probably not good," Dean said, trying to smirk. "When the hot nurse's assistant runs from me."

"Yeah, it's not good," Sam said, his voice tight. He was watching the door.

"Hi, I'm Sharon, I'm the Charge Nurse, what's going on?"

"Look at his arm!" Natalie squeaked.

"Oh, that doesn't look quite right."

"Ya think?" Dean said.

"He said it hurt when Phil was giving him the meds," Sam said, his voice down into the dangerously calm range.

"Let me take care of this, Natalie, will you go get a hot pack?" Sharon said, her voice quiet efficiency. She touched Dean's arm, gently prodding it. He ground his teeth together. "I'm going to pull the IV. It's going to hurt."

"Not pinch?" Sam asked mildly.

"No." She waited until Natalie brought a white plastic bag-looking thing—Dean recognized it, they had a few of the hot-packs in their first aid kit. Sam had found a supply of them in an old drugstore and they'd bought out the stock. Sharon put the still warming pack on Dean's arm and smiled. "Ready?" He nodded and she pulled the line.

"Shit!" It hurt, involuntary tears gathered in his eyes and trickled over his cheek. She was applying pressure—he knew she had to—but it was just misery. Sam's hand on his other arm gave him a focus away from the agony. _Wow, add that to the list of tortures. _ Dean took slow breaths, just trying to stay ahead of the myriad pains all converging on him at once. To top it all off, he was starting to get nauseated again. He looked up at Sam.

"He's going to be sick," Sam said, the calm starting to really scare Dean.

"Can you hold this?" Sharon asked Sam, when he nodded she stepped over to the supply cabinet. "Let me get another line in, and I'll get you something for that. Can you hang on? Or do you need to …?"

"I'll try," Dean said, swallowing. There wasn't anything left to throw up, so even if he started heaving all it would be was dry. _Of course, those are the worse. _"Remember the first time you got really drunk, Sammy?" he asked, trying to distract himself from Sharon. For some reason the idea of another IV just seemed like too much right then.

"Not really." Sam laughed. "I remember the next day, though." He smiled. "You made sure I remembered to never mix my alcohol."

"I might have cheated a little."

"What?" Sam frowned.

"Well, bacon and pancakes really aren't the best thing to cure a hangover, they usually start the..."

"I know, I thought that's what you were trying to do."

"Oh, okay." Dean flinched when the needle ran in his left wrist. "I did good then."

"You always did, Dean," Sam said gently.

"There you go," Sharon said. "I'm going to flush it and give you some Phenergan and morphine again okay?"

"Okay."

"Here we go, it might sting." She started the flush, Dean immediately tasted it and let out the breath he was holding.

"I taste it."

"Yeah, I always do too," she said with a smile. She gave him the drugs, flushed it again and hooked the nitro drip to the new line. "I'll be in to check on you in about twenty minutes. Keep that hot pack on, we need to make sure that's taken care of."

"They blew my vein," Dean said as soon as she left, already feeling a little sluggish from the drugs, but the nausea was backing off. He took an experimental breath, his chest still hurt, his head was pounding, but it was a little better.

"They did," Sam growled.

"Sam," Dean began, then stopped. He was starting to really feel the meds. "We need to talk, but I need a favor."

"Anything."

"In my wallet."

Sam got the wallet and brought it over. Dean fished out the business card he was looking for and handed it to his brother. "Call them, tell them who you are, and tell them what's happening."

His brother was a little pale, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "Okay."

"Then I promise we'll talk, can't … Damned Phenergan …" Dean closed his eyes, he tried to get them to open again. The last thing he heard before he slipped away was his brother's voice on the phone.

_**To Be Continued**_


	5. Fallaces Sunt Rerum Species

_A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I'm sorry I'm a little behind. After a little debate with Sam and Dean (and the ever present evil Scopulus) we decided that getting a chapter up was important. I HAD planned on this being the last, but Dean was in a mood, Sam pouted about it, but Dean said he was older and that meant he wins. Totally._

_A/N II: For Merisha _

**Multum In Parvo**

**Fallaces Sunt Rerum Species **

Sam paced to the end of the hallway, thirty-eight steps, turned and paced back to the nuclear medicine testing area, then finished his lap of the hall. Dean had been in there for ten minutes. If felt longer, but it was only ten. Sam was keeping track and the clock on the wall was working correctly, he'd double checked it against his watch. He sighed, at least Willard was nowhere to be seen. Sam's mood hadn't improved and seeing the doctor might just push him over the edge.

The fact that Willard had reappeared twice and tried to convince Dean to start whatever protocol he was pushing was beginning to drive Sam to a point of fury that was a little terrifying to view from the inside. He knew his brother could see it as well. Dean kept casting worried glances his way. Sam couldn't really blame him, he knew the other Sam, the soulless one, would have killed without mercy. Whether or not he would have killed Dr. Willard might be up for debate. _Not really, after the way he treated me the last time he saw Dean, he'd be dead. _

Sam made his turn and started back up the hallway. The conversation he'd had a few hours earlier still playing in his head. The card his brother had given him was for a doctor, a specialist, and when Sam had called, they had not even needed Dean's last name to know who he was talking about. That was worrying. The receptionist was chatty and had assured Sam they would take care of everything. He wasn't sure what she meant, but she had broken the connection before he could ask.

"Hey," Dean's said from behind him.

Sam stopped his pacing and faced his brother. "How'd it go?"

"Well, I burped wrong or something and got the radioactive stuff in a weird spot, so I had to drink more cheap cola. We are never, ever, drinking anything but name brand ever again."

"Never?" Sam couldn't help grinning at his brother's petulant tone. "Ever? For infinity ever?"

Dean looked up, a smile lighting his eyes, a real smile for a shared joke. "Yeah, Sammy, for infinity ever."

"Good," Sam said, walking beside the wheelchair. "Did they say anything else?"

"Hold still."

"What?"

"They said hold still, actually it was take a breath and don't move, only they said it so fast, I moved so they had to do it again, and again." Dean sighed. "I think they did it on purpose."

Sam laughed. "The conspiracy at work?"

"You know it." Dean chuckled. "I told you, it's out there. That 'whole don't move', 'this will pinch' it's all a conspiracy."

"Right, a conspiracy perpetrated by...?"

"Curling playing demons, they want me weakened in order to force me to watch their sport."

"You love curling." Sam nudged him.

"I do. See? Their evil plot worked. I'm addicted to their sport, forced to watch it every season."

"And watch endless replays on YouTube in the off season?"

"Yep." Dean rubbed his chest.

"Dean?"

"It's okay." He smirked. "It pinches."

"Ha ha."

They arrived back at Dean's room, and Sam offered his brother a hand, which Dean batted away. He settled himself in bed while the nurse hooked him back up to the in room monitors. Sam sat down beside the bed and watched the door. Dean turned on the TV and was dozing within a few minutes. Sam sighed and stretched his legs. He really needed to do something, anything, but he was not about to leave Dean alone.

"Well, your test results are back," Dr. Willard said, striding into the room.

"What?" Dean jerked awake.

Sam put his hand on his brother's arm. "Doctor?" he growled softly.

"Your heart is normal. I'll sign your release forms and you can go."

"What?" Dean blinked.

"What do you mean? He's still in pain!" Sam stood.

"Sammy."

"No, Dean. You needed a shot of morphine less than an hour ago. You. You asked for it. _You_, Dean. And this jerk is just letting you go?"

"It's not his heart." Willard shrugged. "Now, about that protocol."

"No," Dean said, a note of panic in his voice. No one else might have heard it, but Sam did. His brother was scared.

"Excuse me?" A deep male voice said from the door. "Am I interrupting?"

Willard rounded on the newcomer. "What are you doing here?"

"I was asked to check on Dean," he said, glancing down at a file. "By Dr. Gleason."

"Thank god," Dean said. Sam glanced at his brother, Dean looked relieved.

"Since you seem to be done here, I'll take over."

"I was just explaining to him about a protocol that..." Willard said, his face turning red.

"NO!" Dean shouted and immediately grabbed his chest with a groan.

"Out," Sam said quietly to Willard.

"But …"

Sam took half a step away from Dean's bed. "Out."

"Sammy," Dean's quiet voice stopped him.

"You heard them," the new doctor grinned. "Out you go, I'll take it from here." He waited until Willard was nearly out of the room. "And Willard? That protocol is horse shit."

There was dead silence for several seconds, then Sam heard his brother chuckle. He took a deep breath and smiled at the man, feeling the tension between his shoulder blades relax a little. It didn't let Willard off the hook, but Sam had a little time to plan something special. He stopped and considered that thought. Was it the influence of that other Sam, the one with no soul? _No, he hurt Dean. He pays. It's been your rule since you were old enough to act on it. _

"Okay, let's start again. Dean and Sam, right?" He held his hand out and shook Dean's then Sam's. "I'm Sean Riggan, Brian Gleason called me this morning and asked me to take over for him, since he's not here."

"Thank you," Dean said.

"Let's see what we have here. So, your heart does look fine."

"That's good, right?" Sam asked, remembering his terror years before, facing his brother's failing heart and his own desperation, trying to find a cure when there was nothing that could be done.

"Yes and no," the doctor said honestly. "Yes, because we can rule out cardiac. No because Dean is still obviously in a lot of pain."

"So where do we go from here, doc?" Sam asked, dropping into the chair beside the bed.

"Sean, call me Sean." He looked through the files. "The next step is usually acid reflux and GERDs. I'm not sure about that, and Brian wasn't either. We're both leaning towards the esophagus. Well, I mean not acid in the esophagus, but something else going on, especially since the nurses did note you had some relief from the nitro." He smiled. "I have ordered that stopped, not because I'm a sadist, but the tests Brian discussed with me, and I agree you need—well—we need you as normal as possible."

"What's the test?"

"It's an esophageal pressure and PH test. I'm afraid it's not fun," Sean said with a rueful smile. "Let me rephrase that. It sucks, I actually had to have one done, so I know exactly what it's like, if there was another I could use I would, but it's the best one for what we're looking for."

"Like the egg salad?" Dean asked.

"Huh?" Sam looked at his brother with a frown. _Egg salad?_

"Just like that. Specific to what we're looking for."

"Dr. Gleason said the egg salad was the best, but sometimes it can take patients years to get around to getting it."

"Some doctors spend a lot of time with other tests before that one, even though it's relatively fast and painless. Sorry to say, this one isn't really either. Actually these tests. There are two. One takes about forty-five minutes, the second twenty-four hours."

Dean's shoulder's sagged. "Another twenty-four hours in here?"

"No, actually I would prefer it if you were out. Go to a movie, eat food that gives you heartburn, take a walk in the park, relax as much as you can while being upright as much of the day as you can."

"What's the test involve?" Sam asked, putting his hand on Dean's arm.

"You won't like it."

"I'm sure I won't. I haven't liked most of them," Dean said with a snort.

"It uses a tube..."

"Already hating it."

Sean smiled. "Yeah, and they need it in your esophagus so..."

"Up the nose? Like a feeding tube?" Dean was frowning.

"I'm afraid so, both of them."

"I hate those things."

Sam frowned. The last time his brother had needed a feeding tube—that he could remember at least—he'd been unconscious the whole time. "Then what?" Sam looked from the doctor to Dean.

"Well the first one, we have you swallow while the tube is in, sports drink and baby food then measure how the esophagus works, then we pull that tube and the second goes in, it stays all day and you eat and drink as normally as possible for you. There's a monitor attached to it, you wear that all day and it has buttons for specific events, nausea, pain, belching and then another for other events and you just make a note of those."

"Sounds like a party," Dean said.

"At least a party. I had Indian food during mine just to shake things up." He smiled. "Not much of course. We're a lot alike, Dean, in a lot of ways. So I know where you're coming from."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So, let's get you out of here and down to outpatient to get the first part taken care of, then you can leave. I'll have a follow up appointment scheduled for late afternoon tomorrow. I have to read the results, but I won't keep you waiting. You're in pain and you can't really take anything during the test, so I want to get it over as soon as possible." Sean looked at Sam. "Make sure he has as good a day as possible, can I trust you to do that?"

"Yes!" Sam said fervently. 

"Good." He stood and shook both their hands. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Thank you," Dean said.

"You're welcome." He walked out of the room.

"I'll go get the paperwork, Dean, while they get you ready, okay?" Sam said absently, already halfway out the room. "Doctor? Sean!" He called when the doctor didn't stop.

"Yes?" The man turned.

"What's wrong with my brother?"

"I'm not sure, that's what the test are..." He trailed off, searching Sam's face. "Oh."

"Oh?" Sam asked, feeling his eyebrows climb. "Oh what?"

"You need to speak to him, Sam. I can't. Patient confidentiality."

"You don't understand, he won't talk to me about it." Sam tried his guaranteed to get the information from anyone look—the one not even Dean could deny. Only—it didn't work on Sean, he frowned and shook his head. "Please." Sam knew he sounded pathetic.

"Talk to him, you have twenty-four hours and believe me with that thing up his nose he won't be running anywhere fast." The doctor smiled. "Make sure he takes it easy—or at least he relaxes. He needs it."

"Okay." Sam sighed, he was about to try another tactic when his brother's shout of "NO!" blasted down the hallway. Sam was running before his brain told his feet to move.

_**To Be Continued**_


	6. Dira Necessitas

_A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! _

_A/N II: For Merisha_

**Multum In Parvo**

**Dira Necessitas **

The room was quiet for a moment, the sounds of the monitors and the television blocking out the noise in the hallway. When Sam had barreled after Sean Riggan, Dean guessed his brother meant to ask about more than the upcoming tests. Before he could worry too much, a nurse came in and pulled the IV and unhooked him from the monitors. Dean sighed, he really hated IVs, they told him they shouldn't hurt once they were in, and he always felt them. And of course, after they had blown his vein, he was more aware of the new line than usual. Once she left, he slid out of bed and stepped carefully over to the cabinet where Sam had put his clothes.

"I wanted to talk to you about that protocol," Dr. Willard said.

"What?" Dean turned, shocked that the man was back in his room after having both Riggan and Sam ask him to leave. Of course, the doctor probably didn't recognize what was actual, honest-to-god homicidal fury on Sam's face.

"I think you really should consider it, he has had good results with ..."

"I told you no."

"He found that when you..." Willard went on as if Dean hadn't said a word.

"No." Dean tried to keep his voice firm, but his chest was starting to really hurt again. Willard took a step towards him. "NO!" Dean shouted.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Sam's voice was dangerously calm.

"I am concerned about..." Willard started, but finally the look on Sam's face registered in his brain. The man went white. "I was just..."

"I believe you were told to leave," Sean said, entering the room. "The patient told you, his caregiver told you, I told you."

"I wanted him to know that I believe his current..." Willard stammered. "And he was doing better, I'd started the..."

"You what?" Sam and Sean said together, Sean's voice reflecting professional horror, Sam's... Dean didn't want to think what was in Sam's voice.

"Get out," Sean said, pointing to the door. "Do you want to file a grievance?"

"Yes," Dean said quietly. He looked Willard straight in the eye. "Yes, I do."

Willard huffed, but after opening his mouth several times, he snapped it closed and left without another word. Sam shifted so he could watch down the hallway, Dean wondered what was going on in his brother's head. That wasn't exactly true, he knew what Sam was thinking, because Dean knew what he would do if their roles were reversed. He just hoped it was nothing so serious that Sam would get in trouble.

"You are all signed out. I'll escort you down to outpatient, just in case," Sean said with a smile.

"What was he giving me?"

"Erythromycin, they didn't tell you?" the doctor frowned at Dean.

"Nope, not me. Sammy?"

"Why would they be giving you that?"

"I guess that answers the question," Dean said, looking at Sean. "Do you know what he was talking about?"

"Yes, I read the research, and like Brian, I disagree. I'm sure he discussed both drugs with you."

"We covered all of them." Dean sighed.

"I'm on pretty much the same thing as you are, and it works for me most of the time."

"Most?" Sam asked.

"Nothing works all the time," Sean said with a grimace. He punched the button on the elevator with more force than was needed. "I am really sorry about Willard."

"It's okay. I don't have to deal with him again." Dean stepped into the elevator, relaxing a little as the doors closed. He might need more tests, but getting released was something.

When the elevator stopped, Sean led them down a long corridor, past a glassed in fountain and into another section of the hospital. There was a reception desk in dark walnut and a pretty blond sitting behind the desk. Sean smiled at her. "This is the patient I called about. Dean."

"We're all ready for him. I just need him to sign these forms and we'll get him taken care of."

"Thanks doc," Sam said, smiling at Sean.

"I'll see you both tomorrow. I'll hold you to your promise, Sam, and remember twenty-four hours is a long time."

"Yeah." Sam glanced and Dean, then back to the doctor.

Dean didn't even want to guess what that meant. He signed the papers and swallowed down the nerves that were suddenly flaring. His chest was aching more and more as the morphine was working out of his system. _Plus, every time I get a test lately it's just bad news. Scratch that, my heart is okay. So that's good. _He handed the papers back to her.

"Dean?" a gray-haired woman in bright pink scrubs was standing by a door that led back behind the reception desk.

"That's me." He took a deep breath, wondering if he should just ask Sam to …

"Can I come back?" Sam asked.

"Is that okay with you, Dean?" the woman asked.

"Yeah," Dean answered trying to sound like it was a hassle, he even tried rolling his eyes at Sam—but he couldn't fool his brother. Sam was frowning, the little curls visible between his eyebrows in a full protective squinch.

"My name is Nilda," she said as she led them back. "I'll be doing the tests today."

"Awesome." Dean sighed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I heard you had a run-in with Dr. Willard."

"News travels fast," Sam said, almost on Dean's heels.

"It's not the first time it's happened," Nilda said, opening a door and gesturing them in. "Dean you need to sit on the bed for me and..."

"Sam."

"Sam, you can sit here." She pointed to a small plastic chair. Dean grinned at his brother as Sam tried to fold himself into the tiny chair. "They aren't really one size fits all are they?" she asked with a laugh.

Dean laughed as he sat on the bed. There was a computer monitor to his left and a sink with a set of drawers in front of him. Sitting on the counter beside the sink was a tray with what looked like two thin snakes that had swallowed a rosary. One had gotten a hold of larger beads. _I wonder how many people think of that when they see those? _Beside the snakes were two bottles, one with a spray cap and two giant cotton swabs.

"Okay," Nilda said. "I am going to numb you down a little to make this easier." She picked up one of the swabs and smeared goo from one of the bottles on it.

"That really doesn't look easy." Dean tried to joke, but the swab was headed for his nose.

"Tilt your head a little, honey."

He did as he was told and ground his teeth together as the local anesthetic burned in the back of his nose and the swab felt like it was headed straight into his brain. He grabbed a fistful of the sheet on the bed and held on, breathing slowly, hoping he wasn't letting on how freaked he was. She pulled out the swab and he breathed a little easier, until she picked up the other one and he had to endure it again. By the time she was done he was shaking, more from the sensation of invasion than anything else, because he really couldn't feel much anymore.

"Now, open up, this will be simple, I'm just going to spray a little anesthetic in the back of your throat."

"Okay."

"Dean?" Sam said softly.

"I'm okay."

"Sure." Sam stood so Dean could see him easily.

"Now, I am going to put this in your nose and I need you to swallow it. I have some water to help with that," Nilda said, picking up the snake with the bigger beads in it.

"Okay." Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly then nodded. She started pushing the tub in his nose, he felt it hit the back and he started swallowing as she offered him a sip of water. The next instant he was choking, gagged and sprayed water all over her as she pulled the tube out. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't worry, it's not the first time. Are you ready to try again?"

Dean nodded and this time he was ready for it, and managed to fight his gag reflex as he swallowed the tube. It seemed to go on forever, and it was hard to get over the idea that it was going into his esophagus and not into a lung. When that thought would flit through his head a little spark of panic would squeeze his chest. He clamped down on the emotion and swallowed again.

"There you go, perfect. I guess we should have tried that from the start." She smiled. "Now lay down on your left side for me and we will get started."

Dean laid down, his heart was starting to pound and his breathing was a little harsh. _Not a panic attack, not now, this is a routine test. _He tried to take a deep breath, only to be reminded of the tube in his nose. He closed his eyes, trying to get control, but it wasn't working—until he felt his brother's hand drop on his ankle. The contact grounded him. He opened his eyes and Sam was frowning at him, worry clearly written on his face and in his eyes.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"Okay, this is Gatorade." She picked up a blue syringe. Dean was glad it was the blue flavor, he really wasn't fond of it, and he doubted after all this was over he would be able to stomach it at all. She squirted a little in and Dean swallowed. _And wow, that hurts. _Sam squeezed his ankle. Nilda did something on the computer and then gave him a little more Gatorade. There were two syringes full and it took Dean three swallows to actually get the hang of a "correct" swallow. He gathered from what Nilda said he was doing something called "double swallowing" which was making the test more difficult for her.

"Good job, I'll let you rest for a moment." She typed information into the computer, Dean watched, trying to make out what was on the screen, but all he could see were lines of deep purple. "Now, baby food. These are peaches."

It was the same thing again, only swallowing the thicker substance was far harder than the Gatorade, and Dean's chest was really starting to hurt before it was done. The only thing that kept him going for the last five swallows was his brother's hand, grounding him, reminding him that he had backup—that he wasn't alone in this anymore. That made his throat hurt in an entirely different way. _Which is totally because of the leftover drugs. _

Finally, it was over and she had Dean sit up. Rather than moving back to his chair, Sam edged closer, leaning on the side of the bed. Dean noticed his brother did look away when Nilda pulled the tube out. When it was gone, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "That was fun."

"That's what they all say," Nilda said with a wink. "Now, number two. This one is smaller, and it's going to stay in overnight. You'll have this with you at all times." She handed Dean a little box that had a series of buttons on it. "I've set it up to record the data the doctor asked for, so press one for chest pain, two for nausea and three when you belch. The other one that says 'diary' press that if anything else happens that we haven't made note of and you think we should know about. Then make a note. When you start eating press this and stop eating press this and then you can see the standing and lying down."

"And the fun continues."

"Yes." She picked up the other tube. "This one isn't as big." She started feeding it in and Dean managed to get it down without gagging once. She taped it in place on his face and then patted his shoulder. "We'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," Sam said, helping Dean off the bed.

Dean smiled at her as she walked with them to the front. "Thanks."

Sam was quiet as they walked out the door. Dean could practically hear the gears turning in his brother's head. He started to take a deep breath and realized how uncomfortable that was, between the still present chest pains, now complicated by a tube down his throat. "Sammy..."

"Are you hungry, Dean?" Sam asked quietly. "Sean said you should eat, and, um..." He paused as they reached the Impala. "Would you like to see a movie or something?"

"What?" Dean knew he was staring, he honestly thought they were going to have "a talk" as soon as they cleared the building. Sam looked nearly frantic with worry, but was trying for a smile. "He did say something that would give me heartburn."

Sam pulled out his phone. "We have Mexican, Thai and Indian nearby."

Dean thought about it. Mexican was out, he'd never get the cheese down past the tube. "Well, Sean said he had Indian, let's go for that."

Sam laughed. "It's almost a guarantee for heartburn."

"For you, wimp." Dean chuckled as he dropped into the car. "I fear no curry."

"Except that one in Albuquerque," Sam said, starting the engine.

"That wasn't curry, that was lava. I'm pretty sure about that." Dean shifted trying to get comfortable, he doubted that was going to happen. The movement made his chest twist. He poked the button, it beeped.

"Which one was that?" Sam asked casually.

"Chest pain."

"Okay." Sam pulled out and headed down the road, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel out of time with the music. It was one of his habits that drove Dean nuts. It meant his brother was thinking hard about something and not really paying attention, and oddly, it was one thing that soulless Sam had never done. That man always kept time with the music. _Huh. _

A few minutes later they pulled up at the Indian restaurant. The rich scent of fenugreek and ginger wafted out onto the street. Dean got out and waited for Sam and they walked in together. There was a buffet along one wall. The waitress, a small Indian woman, motioned them towards a booth. They sat down and she brought them water. Sam opted for the buffet, and Dean asked for the house soup. After giving him one of _those _looks, Sam went to serve himself some food.

Dean sipped a little water. It was easier to swallow with this tube than the other, as he set the glass down he remembered he was supposed to let the monitor know when he was eating. He punched the button as Sam sat down and set a plate of naan and pappadum down in the center of the table. Dean picked up a piece of the bread and took a bite as he waited for the soup. Sam watched him for a moment, then started eating. The waitress brought Dean his soup and a small bowl of rice, refilled their water glasses and left. Sam was still eating in silence.

"They have mango pudding on the buffet," Sam said with a smile.

"Really?"

"I'll sneak you a bowl when I get some."

"Thanks, Sam," Dean said, grinning. He didn't like mangoes in most forms, they fell into the "slimy" food group—to be avoided at all costs—but he'd discovered mango pudding at an Indian dive in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere Oregon and had put it on the favorite foods list. It also seemed to be something he could tolerate no matter how bad the...

"Do you want to see a movie?"

Dean sighed. He hadn't been to a movie since before Sam fell into the Pit. He'd tried to go with Ben, he'd even gone as far as getting the tickets and walking in the movie house—then the smell of popcorn would hit him and remind him of afternoons spent at the movies with Sam, sneaking between theaters and getting refills on the massive buckets of popcorn. He'd ended up leaving Ben and his friends there and waited it out in the car. The next time, he'd just driven the boys to the movies and got them tickets. He couldn't go in, it was just too hard. Too many memories that he just couldn't get past.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cut into the memories.

"Is there anything worth seeing?"Dean asked, shoving the memories away.

Sam pulled out his phone again and smiled, shaking his head. "Nope."

"What?"

"Nothing you'd like, just chick flicks and nope." Sam grinned.

"I have a tube up my nose," Dean said pathetically, then trying his imitation of Sam's puppy dog look.

"You probably don't even want to see 'Thor'."

"In 3-D?" Dean asked.

"In Real-D," Sam corrected him.

"Fine, in some D that makes it better than real life no matter how bad the movie?"

"Yeah."

"When does it start?"

"An hour," Sam said, tucking his phone away.

"Just enough time to eat pudding and head out."

As they finished the meal, Dean was aware of the tension in his brother. Sam got up and made one last pass at the buffet table, returning with two small bowls of bright orange pudding. Dean took a bite and let the sweet, fruity pudding slide down his sore throat. _I wonder if it's okay to use some anesthetic throat spray?_

"We should have asked if you could use an anesthetic spray," Sam said, frowning at him.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

Dean couldn't help grinning. It had been far too long since they had been that in tune. The year that Sam had been gone, and then the time with the man that wasn't really his brother, still ached like an open wound. Knowing it was Sam, his Sam, sitting across the table from him made all the difference in the world, and suddenly all of it seemed more bearable. Lisa really had done her best, even the guys at work—though they didn't know the particulars—had been supportive once they had grasped something was going on, but it wasn't the same. As often as he had tried to convince himself it was, it just wasn't. There was a big difference between having support and that deep down in the bones feeling of knowing someone had your back against all that came. Most people never knew what that was like, Dean did. And it was there, sitting across from him, a frown curling on his forehead.

He took a deep breath. Sam deserved to know everything too. In fact, Dean realized with a shock, he wanted Sam to know. "Sammy," he began, meeting his brother's eyes.

"Dean," Sam said, stopping him. "We'll deal with that tomorrow. I promised Sean you'd take it easy today and I think that what you're going to tell me is not going to be easy."

"No, it's not."

"Then it can wait."

Dean narrowed his eyes and frowned at his brother. "Christo."

Sam laughed, his open genuine laugh. "No, Dean, I'm not letting you off the hook. Just for today."

_**To Be Continued**_

_A/N III: I promise you it will all come together in the next chapter..._


	7. Dum Vita Est Spes Est

_A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. We have reached the end of our journey (as promised) and answers are forthcoming..._

_A/N II For Merisha_

**Multum In Parvo**

**Dum Vita Est Spes Est **

A huge fish tank dominated one entire wall of the waiting room at Sean Riggan's office, and Sam had a funny feeling the big one was considering him as a potential snack. As Sam paced towards the tank the fish—a large Oscar—would charge at the glass his fins up in an aggressive pose, and as he turned to stalk in the opposite direction the fish would follow along the tank as far as he could.

"You are going to be fish food if you aren't careful," Dean said, his voice amused, but Sam caught the waver of nervousness no one else would hear. His brother was worried.

"Yeah," Sam replied, tossing him a grin and paced past the fish, stopping long enough to make it charge. He heard Dean chuckle. A glance at the clock showed that it was still ten minutes until the scheduled appointment time. They had arrived early to fill out paperwork. Dean was sitting in the chair closest to the reception desk, tapping his fingers on his leg. From the rhythm, Sam guess it was a heavy metal song of some kind and Dean was tapping out the guitar part. His brother wasn't always prone to air guitar, but he kept time with the guitar as often as the drums. It occasionally drove Sam nuts—especially like now, when there was no music that Sam could hear.

**The Day Before**

Sam bought tickets for the movie and handed Dean the glasses for the 3-D. His brother smiled at him, the smile a little crooked because of the tube taped to his nose. A fleeting frown crossed his face and Dean poked at a button on the monitor for the device. "Burp," he said before Sam could ask.

They walked into the theater and Sam eyed the concession area. He doubted Dean could get popcorn past the tube. "Do you want anything Dean? The ticket has a coupon for candy on it."

"Do they have Red Vines?" Dean grinned at him.

Sam smiled remembering the first time they'd had Red Vines at a movie theater. _"If you bite the ends off, Sammy, they make a straw for the Coke," Dean told him. _Since then he couldn't eat them without thinking of a movie theater. He got a box of the candy and two Cokes and they headed into the theater. The seats were large and Sam grinned when his brother discovered that the seats reclined. His good humor disappeared when he heard the beep of a button on the monitor.

"It's just the one for laying down, Sam." Dean nudged him. "Kick ass theater. Shhh. Previews are starting."

"I didn't say anything."

"Well you were, I heard you thinking." Dean nudged him again. "Thanks," he said quietly, then leaned back, putting on his 3-D glasses.

Sam watched his brother out of the corner of his eye until the feature started. There had been a tension in Dean's shoulders when they'd pulled up at the cinema, but by the third preview—for some large budget alien invasion film—Dean was relaxed, poking Sam, commenting on the previews and the action. Whatever had been lurking there, was gone, in fact Sam wondered if he'd imagine it until he glanced over and caught Dean looking at him with a small smile on his face.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I just haven't seen a movie in a long time," Dean said casually.

"This one is supposed to be good." Sam got it then, the tension, the simple statement. He nudged his brother and settled in to watch the film.

Two and a half hours later they stumbled out of the theater, blinking in the evening sun. Dean had a happy smile on his face. Sam had enjoyed the movie as well, although he had been aware of every time his brother had reached for the buttons on the monitor. He'd kept track of how many times Dean had used it, and wondered what each was for, but he hadn't asked. They got quietly into the Impala and Sam headed back towards the hotel.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really," Dean said with a sigh. "Maybe we should get something to take back to the room?"

"Pizza?" Sam suggested and was surprised by the look of horror on his brother's face. He mentally kicked himself, getting cheese past the tube would be miserable. "Milkshake?"

Dean smiled. "I think I saw a Dairy Queen by the hotel."

"DQ? Not somewhere else?"

"No, theirs are lower fat..." Dean stopped himself, turned red and looked out the window.

Sam filed that fact away. He intended to continue research on Operation De-Stealth Dean after his brother went to sleep, even though Dean had promised to tell him everything. It was something to do. He was having a hard time finding things to do, one of the after effects of the other Sam's time on earth seemed to be a lingering insomnia—and on those nights when he did sleep, he was plagued by nightmares that he knew were not the imaginings of his subconscious, but memories of hell. In desperation, about once a week, Sam would take a sleeping pill just so he could shut it all off for one night.

He got a second surprise when he pulled up to the drive-thru window and Dean asked for a small shake with no whipped cream. He handed the drinks to his brother and drove back to their room, running through all the facts again. Now that the immediate worry about Dean's heart was gone, everything else was coming back. The anti-nausea drugs for chemo, his brother's changed eating habits, and that bastard Willard had obviously been trying to treat him for something that was already there, not a heart condition, because Dean had discussed the drugs with his doctors. Sam was sure he had heard them wrong, he knew erythromycin was an antibiotic and that _had _to be wrong.

Dean settled in to watche TV, chuckling happily when he discovered _Top Gear _on the hotel's on demand cable. Listening to his brother's occasionally orgasmic sighs over the cars on television, Sam opened the laptop and did his best to research a hunt, but when he was sure his brother wasn't looking, he would search various topics in hopes of narrowing down his list of suspects as far as Dean's health went.

It wasn't encouraging. _In fact it's depressing. _

Sam sighed and shifted. Dean was asleep, looking uncomfortable. Sam slipped across the room and into the bathroom. Dean's shaving kit was sitting on the sink along with another bag, opening it, Sam discovered the mother lode of prescription bottles. He pulled out a couple, then stopped. Dean said he would tell him, in fact he had offered more than once and it had been Sam that had halted the conversation. He could wait. After splashing water on his face he walked back into the main room and flopped on the bed.

"Poker?"

"What?" Sam looked over, his brother was watching him.

"I can't sleep. Last time we played you were down fifty million and I think twelve years of slavery."

"No, I won back ten years with that royal flush I got in Nogales. Remember?"

"Oh right." Dean sat up and punched a button. "I had two pair."

"Which button?"

"Two, sitting up and chest pain. Go get the cards and get ready to lose."

**Present**

"Dean?" a woman asked, opening the door to the back.

Dean stood and Sam fell in behind him. The woman frowned at him, Sam smiled at her. She turned bright red and led the way down the hall. Dean elbowed him in the ribs. She gestured them into a room. Sam sat in a small armchair and Dean perched on the exam table. She took Dean's blood pressure and pulse, then left with a smile.

The door opened almost immediately and Sean walked in. The doctor shook their hands, then sat down. "Well, how'd you do with the test?"

"It's not the worst thing that's happened to me," Dean said.

"That good?" The doctor laughed. "I've been there, so I understand." He pulled a computer screen in front of him. "So..."

"So?" Sam said, Dean speaking at the same time. His brother glanced over, Sam smiled reassuringly, even though he could tell Dean was at near full on panic stage.

"You don't have GERD, in fact you have less acid reflux than most people, although you are a little more sensitive to it when it does happen." Sean smiled. "So that's good."

"I'm thinking it's bad," Dean said.

"What?" Sam asked, looking from Sean to Dean. His brother was white. He got up and leaned against the table.

"No it's not...Is that your normal blood pressure?"

"What?" Dean frowned at the doctor.

"Ninety over sixty?"

"Yeah, that's about right."

"Hmm, okay, well that changes things a bit but still..." He pushed the screen away and focused on Dean. "You have an esophageal motility disorder. They are more common in older people, you have an idiopathic presentation."

"I'm lucky with those," Dean said bitterly.

"I see that," Sean said, glancing at the computer. "With your esophagus we are dealing with two that are related. One—the constant pressure you feel day to day, it's what makes it hard to swallow. I bet you have pills pop back up whole sometimes."

"I do," Dean confirmed.

"The other—what caused the pain that put you in the hospital—that's happened before hasn't it?"

"Six times in the last three months."

"Six?" Sam looked at his brother. "Dean..."

"It's okay, you weren't around Sam."

Sean followed their conversation with an odd look, then cleared his throat. "So six times?"

"Maybe more, that's just when it got bad enough..."

"Ah, I understand," the doctor said with an understanding nod. "It's called Nutcracker Esophagus."

"That sounds painful," Sam said.

"And fun," Dean added.

"Oh, lots of fun. We called it that because the pressure in the esophagus exceeds the amount of a mechanical nutcracker. It's why the nitro they were giving you helped. That's where we come to the good news, bad news."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, edging closer to his brother.

"Treating this is mostly about comfort measures. Usually we put you on high blood pressure medication. It has the side effect of relaxing the spasms in your esophagus. The problem is your blood pressure is low, so we are running the risk of it going to low. So, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to prescribe a shorter acting medication. Take it as soon as you start to feel the chest pains getting bad, you know the difference, I'm sure. But monitor your BP closely."

"I can do that," Sam said immediately. "We have a cuff, I know how to do it."

"What happens when the meds don't work anymore?" Dean asked.

"Surgery, we..."

Dean held up his hand "I don't want to know, not yet. I'm guessing it's not good, and I don't want to know."

"It's successful in about..."

"No, I don't want to know, I have learned enough lately to know that it's downhill no matter what. So, thanks, but no thanks, we'll worry about that one later."

"Okay." Sean smiled. "I'll write you a prescription for the meds, do you need a refill on anything else?"

"I'm good."

"Okay. I've sent everything to Brian as well. Call one of us if you end up in a hospital, so we can find someone nearby to help. And from personal experience, I can tell you a blender really helps on days when it's all bad... A blender is your best friend."

"Thanks." Dean took the paper the doctor handed him.

"Keep in touch." Sean handed him a business card with a handwritten number on the back. "I'm a patient too, and I know sometimes it helps to talk. Don't hesitate to call."

"I won't. Um..." Dean hesitated, glancing at Sam. "Do you have a patient packet?"

Sean looked at Dean, then at Sam. "Oh, yeah, of course." He opened a drawer and pulled out a folder and handed it to Dean. "Here's some info on esophageal motility disorders too. There are a few suggested diets, but what you are already on will cover that mostly."

Dean nodded and walked out of the room, Sam trailed behind him feeling like he had missed a lot of something. He suspected it had to do with the conversation he and Dean were going to have. The fact that Dean seemed to take the whole problem with his esophagus in stride was freaking Sam out. It seemed huge to Sam. He swallowed, suddenly very aware of that process.

They were silent as they went out of the office and down the elevator, and the silence just seemed to grow. Sam swallowed again. He couldn't stop himself, his throat ached, his head was spinning with what the doctor told him and he couldn't stop swallowing. Dean was quiet when they got into the car, reading the handout the doctor had given him about the esophageal motility disorders.

"Let's stop at the park," Dean said as they drove by the entrance to the forested area.

Sam pulled in and drove along the road until he found a quiet area with an empty picnic table. He parked the car and they got out. Dean had the folder in his hands. Sam swallowed again. _I have to stop doing that. _He trailed after Dean, his brother walked past the table and further along the path, deeper into the sun-scented woods, finally stopping at a large log. He sat down and set the folder carefully beside him. Sam looked around for a moment before joining his brother on the log. It was beautiful, for all that they were in the middle of a city, it felt like they were a thousand miles from anywhere.

"Like camping without the wendigos." Dean laughed.

"We really should try camping without them sometime." Sam smiled.

"Yeah, or orcs, or scary things that drag you off, or..."

"Maybe camping is something we should avoid."

"Yeah." Dean smirked, then frowned. "We need to talk."

Sam shifted so he was facing his brother, without thinking about it he swallowed again. Dean noticed and smiled. "Do you have cancer?" Sam blurted out before Dean could even get started.

"Cancer?" Dean frowned. "Oh, you found the Zofran."

"Yeah." Sam felt tears starting to burn in his eyes.

"No."

"What?"

"No, it's not cancer, Sammy."

"But..."

"I have the Zofran? Did you find the Phenergan too?" Dean shook his head. "That doesn't matter. I have that one too. It's weird, the oral Zofran works better, but the IV Phenergan seems to help more—of course that one makes me..."

"Want to watch curling?" Sam offered with a smile.

"Yeah." Dean sighed. "There are other drugs in my bags too, Sam. Quite a little pharmacy these days." He looked up at the trees. "It's an idiopathic presentation as well."

"What is?"

"It's called gastroparesis."

Sam frowned, his knowledge of Latin breaking that down quickly and supplying "stomach paralysis." He looked at his brother. "Dean?"

"It means just what you think it means."

"What?"

"My stomach doesn't work right anymore, Sammy, and I'm lucky enough to be one of the rare people who just got it. Most of the people who do get it—and it's pretty rare—are diabetics."

"What causes it?"

"It's a problem with the nerves. I started really having problems when..." Dean trailed off, his eyes bright. "Anyway, Lisa convinced me to go to a doctor and he referred me to Brian. I was extremely lucky, Brian guessed the issue right off. A lot of people can go years before a proper diagnosis. And the test is simple. I ate a radioactive egg salad sandwich and laid on a table."

"According to Stan Lee you now have superpowers."

"I know, I ate radioactive stuff, but I'm not sure what the power of egg salad is." Dean smiled. "Anyway, what should have emptied out of my stomach in half an hour was still there three hours later."

"Oh god, Dean..."

"That was the first step, Brian got me on the anti-nausea meds and we discussed treatment options."

"What is it with erythromycin? That's an antibiotic."

"It is, but it can help gastric motility. I decided being on an antibiotic forever didn't sound like fun. There are other drugs too, some okay, some not. All have side effects of course." Dean swallowed. "It doesn't get better. In fact, it's been getting worse. I know you've noticed the way I eat."

"You were being stealthy."

"Not stealthy enough, what gave me away?"

"Plain low fat yogurt."

"Yeah, that would, wouldn't it?"

"Since the only time I remember you voluntarily eating yogurt was frozen with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups mixed in and hot fudge on top, yeah, pretty much."

"Most days I can tolerate the yogurt, as long as I stick to low fat. I've started getting that Greek kind, it's a little higher protein, and getting enough protein is an issue sometimes." Dean swallowed. "Before you ask, yes, I have been throwing most of the food away. I have a protein drink made with water for breakfast and lunch, then something solid for dinner. Not much."

"I noticed."

"Yeah, I was getting that."

"How bad, Dean?" Sam asked, now that his brother was talking, he knew it was all going to come out, he just wanted the bandaid ripped off as fast as possible.

"Right now, I've been doing okay. Stop looking at me like that, except for the chest pain, it hasn't been all that bad. I've been eating as well as I can lately. I even managed to sneak in a few bites of burger that didn't bounce. It does get bad, though. Even with the meds, I lose one meal a week, maybe two."

"Lose? You mean vomit?"

"Yeah. I've been hospitalized twice with a really bad flare. That's how I know about feeding tubes." Dean blinked. "And eventually I might know a lot more. My intestines are paralyzing, Sammy, and now with this esophagus on top of it—I've known that I was probably heading for a permanent feeding tube sometime, but..." He blinked again, a tear shimmering on his lashes. "If that doesn't work, there are other options, IV that kind of thing."

"Dean..." Sam was trying to get his head around all the information.

"It's funny, I can face down the apocalypse, the end of the damn world and say okay, let's get the party started. And this—this..." He stopped and looked up, meeting Sam's eyes. "I'm scared to death, Sam. It's out of control and it's my own body. I can't eat anymore, and I didn't even know how much that meant—being able to just eat whatever I wanted to, when I wanted to. Some days all I can do is keep water down, and that's a struggle. Other days I can eat, but it just sits there. I..." Tears were tracking over Dean's face. "And now this? My esophagus, Sammy. What happens when it just doesn't work anymore? What happens when... When..." And Dean broke, a soft sob escaping his lips.

Sam pulled his brother into a tight hug, letting his own tears fall, wondering if Dean had even let himself think about what it all meant before now. If he had grieved, or looked beyond the day-to-day reality of his life. Sam held on until Dean stopped shaking and wiped his nose on Sam's shirt—a Winchester tradition that worked both ways.

"I don't know what to do," Dean said simply.

Sam picked up the folder and opened it. Inside was "The Patient's and Patient's Family Guide to Living with Gastroparesis." He tucked the information about the esophageal disorders into the folder as well. Dean was right, this was hard, in a lot of ways harder than the monsters they fought, it was every day, and maybe meant a slow decline worse than anything Hell could dream up. Still, it didn't matter, they had gotten through everything else, they would get through this. He looked up at his brother. "I've got your back, Dean, no matter what we're facing. We'll face this together too."

A soft light appeared in Dean's eyes as a small smile touched his lips. "Thank you, Sammy." They were quiet for a long time, their shoulders touching, staring into the forest, each lost in thought.

"You want to go get a milkshake, Dean?" Sam said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, sounds good." He looked over at Sam. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

_The End_

_A/N III: So, for those of you who have asked, or are curious, yes, this is coming from personal experience. For all my angels who make this bearable, thank you. I don't walk alone, for fellow patients, I am with you. Gastroparesis, related disorders, and esophageal motility disorders are uncommon. Many patients can suffer for years before they get the tests that lead to diagnosis. Awareness is the first step to finding a cure rather than just offering comfort measures and stop gap solutions for a condition that effects every aspect of every day of a patients life. Most people don't even think about the food they eat, for GP patients it's not just about the food they eat, but the food they can't and in the end the slow decline that eventually affects quality of life. Spreading Awareness One Person at a Time is the rallying cry. To learn more go to _**www (dot) gpawarenessfund (dot)com **


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